The Englisher (24 page)
So when it was
she
who asked if they could get together and talk again, he was astounded.
‘‘Of course,’’ he said.
‘‘Wonderful-good.’’ She smiled.
And, as before, when he braked the car, she nearly leaped out, this time coming around to his side even before he could get out. ‘‘Could we . . . uh, go skatin’ somewhere?’’ she asked when his window was down.
‘‘Roller or ice?’’ He laughed.
‘‘On the ice might be best,’’ she said, hands on the base of the window, eyes shining. ‘‘I know a place.’’
‘‘This Wednesday I can get off work a bit early.’’
‘‘Just whenever you say.’’
He opened his car door and got out. ‘‘I’ll look forward to it.’’
‘‘Well, I best be headin’ home now, jah?’’ she said, lowering her head. ‘‘I really should. . . .’’
He reached out to clasp her arms, resisting the temptation to draw her near. ‘‘Teach me all you know about your life here, Annie. Everything.’’
She raised her eyes to his. ‘‘Well, sure. I believe I can do that.’’
With that, she turned to go.
He leaned against the car door, his chest pounding as he watched her walk down the left side of the road toward the two golden lights flickering in Preacher Zook’s farmhouse.
A
nnie did not ask Lou if she wanted to take a so-called journey down memory lane. She simply started pulling out boxes of Lou’s letters from beneath the bed, organized by year and month.
The afternoon weather had turned dismal following the noon meal, looking nearly as miserable as Annie felt inside about Isaac’s death. But she must not let on what she knew to Mamm or others. And she could not mope around. It was enough that her father was aware and had not revealed it to the People.
Whatsoever things are pure . . . lovely . . . of a good
report . . . think on these things
. She remembered hearing her older brother Christian’s wife, Martha, recite the Scripture. Why Martha had it memorized, Annie didn’t know. But there was something about the verse that kept her from forgetting it, too.
Today being Wednesday, she was glad to have her chores caught up, content, as well, to pass the time by reading aloud the letters in the upstairs bedroom. Lou, in turn, laughed or shook her head in astonishment, or asked to see proof of a comment or phrase in her own childish handwriting.
‘‘Here’s one that might make us cry,’’ Annie said, lowering her voice, lest she be heard by resting Mammi Zook. It was one of the letters where Lou had shared the pain of being an only child.
‘‘Sometimes I think of you as more than my pen pal,
Annie. I try to imagine that you are here . . . or that I am
there with you. Do you think I’m crazy for such imaginings?
‘‘Oh, and if you’re nodding yes when you read this, then I
must also say that having a sister is the best feeling of all.
‘‘Have you always felt as lonely as I do? I’m only asking
because you sometimes write how nice it would be to have at
least one sister instead of six brothers.
‘‘Well, I don’t blame you one bit if you long for a sister.
And someday wouldn’t it be fun if we could meet? Maybe you
could visit me in Colorado. But, just between us, the most
exciting thing would be for me to see you there in Amish country.
I’m not kidding!’’
Annie looked up from the page, reciting the letter’s date. ‘‘You were only eleven and a half and already curious about Plain life.’’
‘‘Hey, I remember writing that.’’ Lou rose to look at the stationery, decorated with Beanie Baby stickers. ‘‘Good grief, does anybody write snail mail anymore?’’
‘‘Well, I do. And Mamm writes to relatives in other states, too—they pass circle letters around, which is fun. Ever hear of one of those?’’
‘‘No, but I like the sound of it. Hey, kind of like what some people do by forwarding emails. I’ll have to show you sometime when we’re at Julia’s.’’
Annie nodded, but immediately her thoughts were with Esther. ‘‘Mamm whispered to me yesterday that evidently Zeke got his wish.’’
‘‘Esther’s home?’’
Annie said it was so. ‘‘Maybe things will be better now for her and the children.’’
‘‘I hope you’re right,’’ Lou said, ‘‘but typically abusive spouses continue to mistreat those they love. Patterns don’t stop because of a short separation.’’
‘‘Well, Daed’s goin’ to be overseeing Zeke now, as I understand it.’’
‘‘Not Irvin?’’
‘‘Far as I know, Irvin and Julia aren’t to be contacted by either Zeke or Esther . . . but, knowin’ Esther, she won’t be able to cut off that close friendship. They’ve become ‘sisters in the Lord,’ as she likes to refer to their newfound kinship.’’ Annie felt a twinge of envy.
Lou walked to the window and looked out. ‘‘Julia’s an amazingly special person . . . I can see why Esther would want a close connection with her, in or out of the Lord . . . whatever sort of sister she wants.’’
Annie changed the subject. ‘‘So . . . are we done looking through these letters?’’
Returning to sit on her bed, Lou said she was. ‘‘Let’s save some for another gray day.’’
‘‘Wonderful-good.’’ Annie was careful to tuck the letters back into correct order again. Then she slid the boxes out of sight. ‘‘Ever think we were s’posed to be friends?’’
‘‘Like, uh, pure out-of-the-sky luck?’’
‘‘More like providence, like the way my father looks on 228 most everything.’’
Lou frowned, looking puzzled. ‘‘Which is what?’’
‘‘Some call it God’s sovereignty . . . or destiny.’’ Annie pondered that for a moment. ‘‘Ever think that ’bout Sam, too?’’ she asked, daring to step on Lou’s toes.
‘‘Well, I wouldn’t go that far.’’ Lou’s wide smile gave her away.
‘‘Just think of it. What if you were s’posed to write me all that time . . . then come here and meet Sam? Like it was planned somehow.’’
‘‘You really mean it, Annie?’’
‘‘Oh, I don’t know. I just wondered if maybe you’re supposed to be Amish, that’s all.’’ She threw a pillow at Lou.
‘‘Ever think that?’’
‘‘Too funny.’’ Lou held on to the pillow, not tossing it back. She clutched it to her chest, as if it were a shield. ‘‘Goodness, why would you say such a silly thing?’’
‘‘Just ’cause.’’
‘‘Spit it out, Annie.’’
‘‘Well . . . I guess I’ve gotten so used to your hair lookin’ like Mamm’s and mine, and the cape dresses and aprons and whatnot.’’ She sighed, not wanting to make too much out of what she felt.
‘‘I sometimes wonder what it would be like to revisit my modern life,’’ Lou said unexpectedly. ‘‘My mother would love to see me . . . wants me to come home for Easter. I guess it’s safe to tell you that I miss my parents.’’
Annie felt suddenly hollow. ‘‘You’d leave here . . . for good?’’
‘‘Not sure.’’
‘‘Well, I’m sorry I brought this up.’’ The last thing Annie wanted was to think about saying good-bye to Lou.
Barely two full days had passed since Esther’s return home and already she was beginning to notice the cracks in Zeke’s resolve. At first, he’d gone overboard being kind, even surprisingly helpful with Zach and John, which was heartening to her. But that lasted only from late Sunday afternoon through most of yesterday.
Already today there had been several pointed, even cutting remarks, mostly in regard to her required repentance. ‘‘You have no choice but to make a confession and soon,’’ he told her when he’d marched indoors to warm up.
She handed him a mug of black coffee. ‘‘How on earth can I?’’
‘‘Stubbornness does not become you, woman.’’
She would not respond and risk starting something that would only escalate, especially not with Essie Ann so small and sleeping in the wooden cradle not too far from the wood stove.
‘‘The brethren expect you to give up this nonsense about salvation within the next few weeks,’’ Zeke said suddenly. She remained silent, standing next to the sink, her weight pushing against it.
‘‘I’ll not have you under the Bann forever, Esther. Ya hear?’’
She nodded, not in agreement but in an attempt to go along.
‘‘It’s high time you submitted.’’ He was standing next to her now, close enough that she could smell the barn on his clothes and feel his strapping shoulder brushing against her. He squeezed her arm till she could hardly feel her fingers. ‘‘Ain’t right to keep your husband waiting . . . usin’ the shun against me.’’
She guessed he’d think as much.
But, ach, to say it!
Zeke probably didn’t care one iota about shunning stipulations. Most likely he would force her to break the rules in due time . . . once Essie Ann was six weeks old.
Ten days away . . .
Their lovemaking—if it could be called that—would then become his secret, for he would not go to the brethren with such a confession. And woe unto her if
she
did.
When Essie Ann began to whimper, Esther was relieved.
Zeke let go of her, and she turned quickly away, going to her newborn and plucking her tenderly out of the cradle. Without looking back, she carried her baby upstairs to nurse in the stillness of the bedroom.
Ben got his chance to ask Annie about the local trees during their long drive to the secluded pond. She was a storehouse of information, describing not only numerous leaf shapes but differing bark textures and other identifying details of the trees he pointed out on the way.
When Ben expressed how impressed he was at her knowledge, Annie had smiled self-consciously, as if he truly was making too much of it.
But it was not Annie’s familiarity with local flora he wanted to focus on this night. He had made a quick trip to the Goodwill store and purchased a pair of nearly new ice skates, and was amused at Annie’s ability to smuggle a pair of her own out to the car in a wicker basket, as if she were feigning a visit to a neighbor.
The hours crept up on them as they skated on the millpond, the surroundings awash in a moon-white sheen. When they held hands, zipping round and round on the ice, he felt frozen in time, though he would never have admitted it to Annie. It was as if what was happening was not real at all, but a lucid dream—a weaving together of two hearts amid the tranquility of twilight. The few other Englishers there scarcely seemed to notice them as they flew across the ice, so their secret was safe.
Annie seemed to be an open book about her life, and he felt almost too comfortable talking with her about his family in Kentucky, as well, wishing he might introduce her to them someday.
Too soon to think this way . . .
Eagerly she told of her longtime pen-pal friendship with Louisa, formerly one of her ‘‘big secrets,’’ which made him wonder what other secrets might be locked away from view.
After their first night of skating he had offered to store her skates in his trunk so she wouldn’t have to sneak them in and out of the house again.
They met nearly every other night after that. Annie was apparently delighted to return to the same place repeatedly. There the world seemed to go still for them, like a shelter for their growing friendship. At least while they skated they could talk and laugh and enjoy the feel of the blades gliding on ice, even though Ben was concerned that Annie not get too chilled.
Sometimes they would hurry back to the car to warm up before resuming their dance, the night dissolving into a dazzling memory of hoarfrost and snow-clad trees near the pond—
their pond
.
Within two weeks, their secluded meetings began to run together in his mind. Yet he could not blur the memory of Annie’s quaint remarks, her appealing smile . . . the firm touch of her small hand in his.
Never let go . . .
he thought.
And in spite of the bitter cold they endured night after night, Ben was in no hurry for warmer temperatures, nor for the sweet blossoming of spring.
T
he house felt terribly cold to Esther this Lord’s Day. Hurrying to get a hot breakfast on the table, she was aware of Zeke’s pushing more logs into the belly of the wood stove. The old stove was their best means of heating the house— especially the downstairs. Their two kerosene heaters often stood in the upstairs hallway, near the children’s rooms. Though Zeke was proud they weren’t ‘‘spoilt with central heating,’’ like their English neighbors, he spoke of the spring thaw often, hoping it was not too far away.
